


Being An Account Of The Causes Of Frustration, And The Consequences Thereof

by lilithqueen



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Future Fic, Grinding, M/M, Making Out, hono's like 20 in this don't @ me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 14:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16956075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithqueen/pseuds/lilithqueen
Summary: prompt from tumblr: "give me the fic where emmdoeshurt honoroit by accident and wants to Die but hono is like 'no, raw me harder.'"me: "i gotchu fam"sadly, does not contain actual sex.





	Being An Account Of The Causes Of Frustration, And The Consequences Thereof

**Author's Note:**

> For shippy things, feel free to visit [ship-to-hell.](http://ship-to-hell.tumblr.com/)

It starts in the morning.

Emmanellain had gone to bed alone; now he’s waking up, ears twitching at the first sound of the doorknob turning. It will be Honoroit with breakfast, and the nearness of his beloved drags him out of his early-morning torpor. (Honestly, it’s barely even _dawn_. One day he will have _words_ with the people who set these bloody schedules.)

Oh, and his beloved’s smile is _radiant_ , even with the tiny scratch on his chin where he’d nicked himself shaving the previous morning. Honoroit must have been awake for at least a bell already, but he looks as lovely and well-rested as ever. Shame, that; when he’s tired, Emm can sometimes convince him to share a nap on the settee. In deference to the hour, his voice is soft. “You’re awake. Did you sleep well?”

“I would have slept better with you here.” Breakfast is on the tray in front of him, but Emm doesn’t care; Honoroit is by his bed, and he shifts to pull him into his arms. Honoroit goes willingly, all long limbs and warm, solid body. They can’t curl up together with the tray in the way, but like _this_ he can steal a slow, gentle kiss, pouring in all his adoration.

By the time they break apart, Honoroit has braced himself with a knee on the bed, green eyes dark and hungry, and Emm’s heart skips a beat at the look on his face. “Mmm. Emmanellain...”

Gods, he’s beautiful, and Emm can never resist when he says his name like that. He has to kiss him again, and this one turns hungry. His hand finds Honoroit’s hair, tangling in the silken strands as he tugs him closer; his tea is probably getting cold but he’d drink it if it were _frozen_ , if it means Honoroit won’t stop kissing him.

“Ah—” Sweet, breathless, but regrettably firm; Honoroit’s business voice has the same effect as a bucket of ice water. “My _lord_.”

He knows pouting is dreadfully unattractive, but he can’t stop. “Darling...”

“You have to work.” He takes some satisfaction in the way Honoroit’s voice trembles the merest bit, but absolutely none in the way he pulls away, fussing with his hair until it lays neatly. “We both do.”

Right. Work. It will start with training—apparently one is intended to start one’s day physically exhausted when one is the commander of Dragonhead—and then will come endless bells of checking reports, filing paperwork, assigning patrol routes, and praying to the Fury that nobody has started any _more_ fights over the new Ixali recruits from the Ehcatl Nine. He picks at his crepes dispiritedly; perhaps if he’s lucky, he’ll have a few moments alone with Honoroit before supper.

“Hmm.”

He looks up to find Honoroit leaning against the nearest bedpost, eyes gleaming wickedly, and the smirk on his face nearly makes Emm choke. “I’ll see you later, my lord.”

He does. It’s Honoroit’s job as his aide-de-camp to deliver all the reports he needs to see; if he then takes a few moments to warm himself at the fire in Emm’s study, who can fault him? If he _then_ takes a few _more_ moments to caress the side of his lord’s neck or run his fingers along the edges of his ears or - once - to gently but firmly tug his hair when he finds him with his quill in the inkwell and his head on his hand, utterly distracted…

Well. Emmanellain can fault him, but mostly because it is _maddening_. And when he breathes Honoroit’s name, reaching for him, his beloved steps smartly away.

“Later, my lord. You have work to finish.”

(And he only now calls him _my lord_ when they’re in public; hearing it in a private moment, all slow and sly and deliberate, goes embarrassingly straight to Emm’s cock.)

 _Later_ is after dinner. When they’re walking back to their rooms and not touching because Emmanellain doesn’t think he can control himself if he puts a hand on him (he’s been nearly feverish all day, mind simmering with the things he wants to _do_ and can’t let himself be distracted by), but then they’re in front of Emm’s double doors and Honoroit is tilting his head up the few ilms necessary to make eye contact and –-

–The touch of his gloved hand at Emm’s hip feels like a burn, and his eyes are hot and green and not teasing anymore. “Are you going to kiss me goodnight, Emmanellain?”

Emm slams him back against the door, mouth crashing down on his, and he swears he feels something – some tension, some wound-up spring – snap in his chest when Honoroit twines his arms around him to kiss him back. Though the back of his mind has whispered of little else than what he’s wanted all day, he’s refused to let himself relieve any of the tension; if he’d started _that_ , he never would have gotten his work done and Honoroit is perfectly willing to scold him when that happens. But today he’s been _good_ , and he wants his reward.

And Honoroit is making sounds into his mouth, rough and needy and perfect; neither of them are armored now, and he feels those strong, slender fingers grab fistfuls of his coat. It’s suddenly too much fabric in the way; he wants them naked, wants to feel those fingers raking furrows down his back instead, and when he presses a thigh between Honoroit’s legs he can feel his lover hard and aching for him. It’s not enough, none of this is _enough_ , so his hands find Honoroit’s hair and pull, baring his throat to Emm’s teeth–-

“ _Ah!_ ”

Honoroit’s voice, in pain. He _hurt_ him.

Emm shoves himself away, feeling sick to his stomach. His veins feel like they’ve been replaced with ice, with acid, and Honoroit is panting against the door and staring at him wide-eyed. He looks–gods, he looks debauched, lips red and collar askew and visibly, desperately aroused, and Emm wants to die. No, he wants to beg for mercy first, and _then_ die. Painfully. “Honoroit – darling, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, are you alright–”

Honoroit blinks at him, one hand to the small of his back. “I hit the door knocker. I’m fine.”

Fine. He’s fine, but this was Emm’s fault, he was too rough, Honoroit deserves _care_ –and something of his feelings must show in his face and the angles of his ears, because Honoroit is stepping forward into him and letting his hands rest so lightly on his hips. His voice is soft, but Emm is well acquainted with the edge of gentle command it holds. “Truly, Emmanellain. I am _fine_. Now…” His lips brush Emm’s earlobe, and Emm holds himself still. “Let’s finish where we left off. _Exactly_ the way we left off. Take me to bed. And then just...take me.”

He swears he feels his heart stop. The images that flash through his mind ought to horrify him – he _loves_ Honoroit, Honoroit deserves to be treated like a _king_ , with all sweetness and grace – but. But. Well.

(Honoroit naked in his arms and twisting like a wildcat, raking long lines down his spine and sinking his teeth into his shoulder. Honoroit spread under him, flushed and hard and crying for _more, please, harder_ as Emm works him open—and he’d do it slowly, he thinks, he’d make his lover beg for it. Honoroit keening and spilling over his own stomach, back arched like a bow as Emm fucks into him. Honoroit afterwards, sleepy and smug and wearing the marks he gave him like badges of honor.)

He breathes in, burying his face in his beloved’s hair. “By the Fury, you will be the death of me.”

Coerthas is cold, but that night Emm’s bed is warm.

**Author's Note:**

> emmhono: "we have to be discreet! they must Never Know we are anything other than friends, it would be a Scandal"
> 
> the betting pool at dragonhead: "thank the fury they're finally fuckin, ten gil on a spring wedding" (at first it was "you think emm is serious?" but then they saw how emm treats him and yeah that man is In Love)


End file.
